


'Til the End of the World

by guineaDogs



Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Character Death, Cryle Week 2019, Game of Thrones - Freeform, High Fantasy, M/M, Murder, Politics, Sex, South Park: The Stick of Truth, Violence, resource scarcity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-05 19:23:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18835132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guineaDogs/pseuds/guineaDogs
Summary: For Cryle Week, Day 4.For Feldspar, duty and affection were two things that were precariously balanced. But as the geopolitical landscape changed with the union of the kingdoms of Auraria and Galatea, he is forced to choose between his personal happiness and the will of his lord.





	'Til the End of the World

**Author's Note:**

> Please pay attention to the tags; I've decided I'm not pulling punches with this one.
> 
>  **Note:** This is world-building heavy because I got a little carried away. If you'd like to see a basic af map as a reference, I've [uploaded it to tumblr.](https://thaumatroping.tumblr.com/post/184889193580/nothing-important-here-this-is-just-a-map-i-made)
> 
> And also, obligatory [playlist for this au](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1tdmzC4Asw8Ui81Wl8vgLu) because I always gotta be extra.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think! I will be updating as soon as I possibly can.

They said this land was cursed. That its people were cursed. That the land was scorched so deep beneath the topsoil that nothing would grow there ever again. That part, at least was true. Not that he knew much about the fire itself; it occurred some years before he was born. Perhaps before, it wasn’t this barren wasteland. Perhaps when it rained, the floods didn’t wash away any attempt to grow. Perhaps when the dark clouds parted and offered a reprieve from the storms, the sun didn’t dry up the soil, leaving cracks in the earth.

Ultimately, it didn’t matter. Feldspar saw little point in dwelling on the past when it differed so much from his reality. Sometimes, it was best not to think much about anything at all. This was one of those moments, as he leaned against the stone windowsill of the tower in which he resided, overlooking the vast emptiness of Greysill.

The high places like this were the ones he preferred. Better accommodations could be found on the lower floors: rooms that were less drafty, less exposed to the elements. But they lacked the vantage points he required. On the lower levels of the castle, he couldn’t observe or guard from any would-be enemies.

Not that many sentient enemies attempted to venture across uninhabitable lands like this without any of them being able to anticipate it. Right now, they were so off everyone’s radars. If they were remembered, it was as a punchline. The butt of a joke.

It had been that way for a long time, but that was certain to change. His Lord would be certain of that. 

When a cloud of dust in the distance caught his attention, Feldspar was immediately on his feet. Sounding an alarm on his way down to the steps, he left the tower, all but sprinting down to the main floor.

He found his Lord sprawled across his throne, his legs draped over the armrest as he scrawled in a book. Feldspar merely quirked a brow, but did not inquire about it. Clyde would eventually tell him what it was if it were anything of consequence.

Clyde didn’t look up, instead focusing on the vellum page before him. “I heard the bell.” 

Feldspar nodded curtly, taking his position before the throne, putting himself between his Lord and the entrance of the hall. “A rider is approaching.” He didn’t offer speculation beyond that. It was obviously a single person riding a horse. Beyond that, he couldn’t say. He simply held onto his mistrust he had as he waited for the sentrymen to let the traveler in. 

It piqued Clyde’s interest, at least, and discarding the book beside him on the seat of the throne, he straightened. “It must be a messenger.” And if that were the case, it was regarding something important. After all, the House of Donovan held no influence in the grand scheme of things, and hadn’t since the fire.

Many questions were left to be answered, and all that could be done was wait for the doors to open. Feldspar straightened to attention when the oversized doors finally creaked. Sharp eyes narrowed, watching the young rider murmur to the sentryman and all but stumble inside in a manner that suggested that he was unaccustomed to riding for so long. 

The towheaded man cast a wary glance to Feldspar before turning his attention to Clyde. “Milord. My, uh, my name is Leopold. I come from the Kingdom of Auraria, on behalf His Royal Highness, Prince Eric. I have a formal invitation — ” He took a step closer, which Feldspar immediately sidestepped, hand moving to the hilt of his sword. The man swallowed thickly. Staying where he was, he instead passed the sealed scroll to Feldspar, who handed it to Clyde. “ — a formal invitation, ah. You see, Prince Eric and Princess Kenny of Galatea are to be wed, and you’re invited to the wedding. There’s going to be a tourney and everything.”

“How thoughtful,” Clyde responded in that cheerful tone that Feldspar knew was only an act. The Lord opened the scroll and read it over, clenching the parchment in his hand. “I suppose you’ll need to rest your horse after such an arduous journey.” 

“Yes, milord.”

“One of my men can take you to the stables. You can stay for the night in the barracks.” 

Feldspar glanced over his shoulder to Clyde, relaying an unspoken  _ really? _ that Clyde opted to ignore. He dismissed the traveller, who made a quick retreat outside. 

"What?" Clyde's irritable snap was enough to indicate that he had seen the look, and hadn't ignored it as much as Feldspar assumed.   
  
"You could have offered him better accommodations."   
  
He snorted derisively. "You're getting soft. What better accommodations? He should be grateful enough to receive water and rations while he's here. What I should have done was sent him back out there to survive the elements on his own."   
  
Feldspar's jaw clenched. "I'm not getting  _ soft _ . There's an opportunity here that you're not seeing. You’re getting invited into a sphere of  _ influence. _ ”

“No, they want to throw around their power at my expense.” Clyde slammed the side of his fist against the arm of his throne. It must have hurt, given how he winced, but Feldspar was not phased at all. His responsibilities didn’t include concern over his Lord’s  _ feelings. _ “My power and status was stripped from me and my family, and the limited amount of viable land we had was  _ destroyed _ because of Galatea. You honestly expect me to gallivanting over there and play  _ nice _ while they gloat? No. Fuck that.”

He kept his expression impassive as he observed Clyde. “Do you want to ignore the invitation entirely?” 

Silence filled the hall. “No. No, I want you to go. I have an idea.”

 

* * *

 

He always ate with his men. It was more appropriate, and he felt more comfortable there than in the formal dining hall with Clyde. In any case, it was an efficient way to ensure morale among his guards was at a satisfactory level, which was easier said than done, particularly this time of year. 

Greysill may have been a protectorate of Galatea, but that fact seemed to be lost on their eastern neighbor. They could not expect any sort of consideration despite hardships Greysill’s climate caused them to face. The same could not be said about Tabor, the valley kingdom to the north, but they often received heavy snows that kept them isolated for the better part of the year. When the snows melted enough for caravans to travel through the pass, they would bring supplies. 

Tabor could always be relied upon for that.

But the castle had almost depleted all of the resources from the last delivery as winter came to an end. What was left were the stores of what few things could be grown there: hearty squashes, beans, peppers, corn, all of which had been preserved at harvest for moments like these. 

They didn’t make the most exciting meals, particularly when it was often the same over and over, but at present, none of them were starving. But as any native of Greysill knew, that was subject to change at any time, and with that in mind, Feldspar’s guards knew to be considerate with their rations, and all else they shared.

Which was why silence fell upon them as Leopold slathered his cornbread with a more-than-generous helping of butter. He seemed oblivious, and although the greediness irritated him, that enraged Feldspar more. 

Unsheathing the dagger strapped in under his sleeve, Feldspar plunged the blade into the wooden table beside Leopold’s hand. “Do you want to lose a hand,  _ Butters? _ ” The newly-dubbed Butters swallowed thickly, shaking his head slowly. He didn’t utter a word, which prompted Feldspar to continue. “We don’t enjoy the luxury of excess here. Keep that in mind if you want to keep your appendages.” 

He shook his head, immediately scraping the excess butter from his cornbread, scraping it back into the bowl and passing over to the next person. 

Feldspar returned his attention to his own meal at that point, and when he finished, he excused himself — though not in a fashion that was considered close to basic etiquette; he merely dropped his dirty dishes onto a tray that someone else would take care of later. He had more important things to attend to.

Preparing for the journey to Auraria was not something he could do overnight; travelling to the other kingdom would take up to a month, and not all of it was easily passable or hospitable terrain. Much of the land in Greysill was a desert. The days were long and the sun was hot with few to no water sources along the way which had to be accounted for. That wasn’t even mentioning the range that had to be passed to reach the plains of Galatea. It was only after that, that the trail turned north to Auraria. At least by that point the only hurdle was crossing the confluence of the rivers that flowed through the two kingdoms. 

There was a lot to take into consideration: how many men to take with him, how many pounds of food was needed to everyone and their horses, how much they could stretch their rations until they reached Galatea in a worst case scenario, how much water they needed. It was a lot, but the festivities didn’t begin for some time. If they were lucky, their delivery from Tabor would arrive before they needed to set off.

But for now, Feldspar began planning. Much was to be done if he were to pull off what Clyde wanted.

 

* * *

 

“I’m going to participate in the tourney.”

Kyle peered across the table, staring at his brother as he slowly chewed on a piece of elk. Fork set aside, he took a hearty drink of wine. He wasn’t surprised by his brother’s decision, not really, but admittedly there was a part of him that wasn’t thrilled about this at all. “Ike — ”

“You doubt me.”

“I don’t — ” There was a stifled snicker behind him, prompting Kyle to look over his shoulder at his most trusted companion, standing at attention by the entrance of the informal dining room. “You know you can join us, Stanley.”

“Oh. No, I couldn’t possibly.”

Kyle waved a hand at him, a dismissive gesture that illustrated how little he agreed with that. But this wasn’t the time to rehash that discussion with him. Instead, he returned his attention to his brother. At twenty-two, Ike was more than capable of making his own decisions, but Kyle still couldn’t shake off the sense of responsibility he felt where Ike was concerned. “I don’t doubt you. I’m well aware that you are an accomplished rider and swordsman.”

“Then you’ll take no issue with me participating.”

He  _ was _ going to take issue with the migraine Ike was causing him. “I just want you to be careful, is all. I know you know what you’re doing, I know you’re going to do well as you always do — but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m your older brother. I’m allowed to worry.” 

“Whatever, mother.” Ike rolled his eyes, and within a few minutes he was excusing himself, abandoning his dishware for one of the servants to take care of. 

Kyle remained where he was, sinking back in his chair with his wine, watching the sun set behind the mountains of Tabor that were in clear view through the large window before him. It was a view he’d seen his entire life, but one he wouldn’t trade for the world. “Do you think my concern is baseless?”

Stan cleared his throat, taking a few steps so he was closer. “Of course not, Your Grace, your concern is — ”

“I don’t want to be placated, Stan. I want your honest opinion.” The number of times he had to ask that was frustrating periodically. What he wanted most from Stan was the candidness he had when they were kids. At some point, it felt like Stan had become incapable of that.

He was quiet for a moment, chewing at the inside of his cheek, clearly hesitating. “Ike has proven himself to be competent. He’s trained long and hard, too. He deserves the chance.” 

Satisfied with that answer, Kyle nodded. He could put faith in Ike, and his ability to do well against the best the other kingdoms had to offer. If he didn’t… well, that wasn’t a thought Kyle wanted to entertain. Ike was an adult, but Kyle himself would raze the known world if anything happened to him.

Before the mountains completely obstructed the sunlight, leaving them in darkness, Stan lit the oil lamps. Kyle watched the flames flicker as he finished his wine, and it was only then that he rose from his chair. “You’re dismissed for the evening, Stan.”

“Your Grace — ” Stan paused, hesitating.”Kyle. Are you sure? I can still — ”

“Stanley.” He offered his lifelong companion a small smile. “What good are you to me if you’re constantly exhausted? Enjoy yourself, get rest, whatever you need to do. I’m retiring to my quarters.” 

Parting ways, Kyle left and headed down the hall. He walked with purpose, his footfalls echoing off of the stone floors. When he arrived to the end of corridor, where it met another, he abruptly turned to the left, pressing his back against the wall. For a few seconds, he stayed there. Met with silence, he headed for the courtyard rather than following the hall that lead to his quarters. 

He knew the grounds like the back of his hand, knew the schedule of his sentrymen. As a child, he’d memorized which parts of the courtyard to pass through at different points in the night, with differing levels of moonlight. By this point in his life, he didn’t have to think about it at all. He never once stepped out of the shadows, never once caught the attention of his guards.

Which, honestly was a failing on their part, but right now it served the purpose he needed. 

His destination was only about a ten minute walk from there. Keeping his pace brisk in the crisp night air, he quickly rapped on the side door of a building before he let himself in. “Christophe.” 

A man with shaggy brown hair rose from his chair by a crackling fire. He didn’t address his king by name, but it wasn’t something that Kyle minded: it was  _ safer _ this way. He took a long drag of a hand-rolled cigarette. “Here to check on progress?”

Kyle nodded, following Christophe into the back room. Under blankets were large wooden crates. Tugging the blanket back, Christophe revealed a stash of weapons: swords, daggers, battle axes. Kyle curled his fingers around the hilt of one of the swords, lifting it up to observe in the lowlight. “Beautiful. Fine work, as always.” He returned the blade to the crate. “This can’t be all of them.”

“No,” Christophe responded quickly, reassuringly. “But they will be ready by the time the snows melt. There will be no delay in getting these to our friends in Greysill.”

“Good.”

 

* * *

 

Summer in Auraria was vastly different to what he was used to. Feldspar traveled quite a bit over the years, but Greysill was home. This time of year, it was a sweltering hot during the day with constant dusty gusts, almost frigid at night. The hottest days in Tabor still required a coat of some kind, and the nights periodically got below freezing. But Auraria? Auraria was all around pleasant. 

It wasn’t too hot, it wasn’t too cold. The breeze was gentle, and while there was plenty of sunlight, it never seemed to beat down and dry up the terrain. It was no wonder that Auraria was the heartland of all the known lands; everything about it was ideal. Geographically, anyway.

Feldspar held disdain for the people who resided here. It was hard not to; with the land being a sharp contrast, with Auraria thriving in every conceivable way, he couldn’t help but resent the seemingly easy lives they held. Particularly this bunch: the lords and ladies, the affluent merchants, those who could afford spending their time languishing away in their villas without a day of work.

The worst part yet was the need to blend in, to play the part. The formal attire required for this wedding was awful: fine garments like these were too luxurious, and without the leather-bound armor that he wore in any other circumstance, he felt vulnerable. Weapons checked at the door, so to speak, it would have been the perfect opportunity for the newlyweds to slaughter everyone there.

And Feldspar didn’t put that possibility past them at all. 

But it didn’t happen. Prince and Princess said their vows while the spectators watched, seated in the open-air amphitheater. It was boring, and the ceremony itself was of no interest to Feldspar. Instead, he spent the time picking out the faces that he knew. Most he recognized because he  _ had _ to; it was important to recognize those in power, particularly when a time might come where their lives intersected with his work. 

It was the red that caught his attention. Several sections away, several rows ahead. It was  _ always _ the red that caught his attention. Those vibrant curls — perhaps they resembled fire, but Feldspar knew deep down that the similarities that man had to wildfire had nothing to do with his looks. Even from here, though, he could tell that he’d gone overboard: even his robes were red, and in the sea of every other color around him, he stood out.

He waited for the ceremony to end before he made his move. As everyone around him began to file out, Feldspar worked his way down and over. He hadn’t been noticed yet. Standing at the edge of a set of benches and the stairs, he watched the other man talk to his two companions, who he easily recognized as his brother and his personal guard.

“Kyle.” Feldspar waited until he was close enough to say anything, and immediately hazel eyes were on him, lighting up with recognition. “Looks like you’ve grown into your nose.”

Kyle smirked. “We’ve yet to see about your ears.” 

Before anything else could be said, fucking  _ Marshwalker _ cut in, quickly sidestepping to place himself between Kyle and Feldspar. “You’re to address him as Your Grace.”

“ _ Really, _ Stan?” Kyle sounded unamused, scowling at the guard and pushing past him. Feldspar couldn’t help but smirk back at Stan as Kyle rested his hand against his shoulder, allowing it to slide a few inches before dropping his arm to his side. It was always worth it to see Stan seethe.

Feldspar hummed, directing most of his attention to the king beside him. “That’s right. You recently got a promotion. Congratulations are in order.” Kyle’s response was a snort. “Perhaps you can tell me about it later.”

“I believe I can make time for an old friend.”


End file.
